A question you ask one person
Will you bury me?
In the first week after you die, the people who love you will have to make about forty decisions. Right now, the answers to all of them are in your head.
So this is a question you ask one person, and they say yes.
$19 once·Twenty minutes·Not a will
What actually happens
The first seventy-two hours
Someone has to decide, quickly, who gets called and in what order, what happens to your body, and whether there is a service. They will decide it on no sleep, in a room with a stranger holding a clipboard, and they will be guessing.
The password problem
Your whole life sits behind logins nobody else can reach. The photographs. The bank. The thing you were halfway through. A written-down password list is both a security disaster and, in most cases, the wrong way to solve this, so we do not ask for one.
The argument
Two people who both loved you, standing in a parking lot outside a funeral home, disagreeing about what you would have wanted. Neither of them is being unreasonable. They simply do not know, and now they never will.
What it covers
Six short sections. Those forty decisions, turned into about forty questions in plain language, and you can skip any of them. The document is written to be read by someone who is exhausted.
People to call, in order
Who finds out first, and who tells whom after that. Names, numbers, and the one line of context that stops a stranger’s phone call from landing badly.
Where things live
The will, the deed, the policies, the safe, the spare key. Locations only: which drawer, which building, whose hallway. Never what is inside them.
Accounts and access
Which legacy tools you have switched on, where your password manager lives, and who already holds emergency access to it.
Who depends on you
Children, animals, the plants, the neighbor you check on every Sunday. Who takes them, what they need, and the small thing only you know about each one.
Body and service
What you want done with your remains, and what you do not want done. Burial or cremation, where, who speaks, what music, and what to skip.
This is the one section that can carry real legal weight. It is built to be signed and dated.What to say
Messages, instructions, the apology you never made, the thing you want said at the table. Entirely optional, and the part people spend the longest on.
How it works
Answer the questions
About forty of them, in six short sections, in plain language. Skip anything you do not want to answer. Twenty to thirty minutes, and you can save and come back. Most people do it in two sittings.
Name your person
One person, and a backup. You send them the ask; they read what you are actually asking for; they accept. The document is not finished when you finish writing it. It is finished when somebody says yes.
Print it and sign it
Two copies. One for you, one for them. The body-and-service page carries a signature and date line, because that page can actually hold weight. The rest is there so nobody has to guess.
Revisit it once a year
A single reminder, on a date you choose: a birthday, a New Year, the anniversary of something. Open it, read it, and either close it again or make a real change. Two minutes, most years.
One email a year. That is the only email we ever send you.The document
A few pages of plain paper. No account to log into, no app to keep installed, no subscription to lapse. If we disappear tomorrow, the thing that matters is already sitting in a drawer in two houses.
Your person
Everything else is paperwork. This part is the reason the thing has this name.
You name one person. We send them a short note that says plainly what you have asked of them and what it would involve. They read it. Then they accept, or they decline.
If they decline, you are told quietly, and nothing is sent to anyone else until you say so. Nobody gets conscripted into this by an email they did not expect. That is the entire point: somebody has to actually say yes.
- 01You name one person, and a backup. Nobody is notified yet.
- 02You send the ask, with one line of your own added to the note.
- 03They accept, decline, or sit with it. There is no deadline and no reminder nagging them.
- 04On acceptance, they receive the document and a one-page note on what to do first.
- 05You can change your person at any time. The old one is told, kindly, that they have been released.
From Nadia Okonkwo · 11:42am
Waiting for an answer“I’ve written down what I want done when I die, and I would like you to be the person who holds it.”
“It is a few pages. It asks nothing of you today. It means that on the worst day, you will not have to guess.”
And then, underneath, a line she wrote herself.
Sample. Your person sees your name, your one line, and two buttons. Nothing else.
What we store
The honest version, not the policy version. Here is the complete list, on both sides.
We keep
- Your email address.
- Your answers, needed to regenerate the document and to send the yearly nudge.
- Your person’s name and email address.
- A Stripe payment record. We never see your card.
We never keep
- Passwords, PINs, or recovery codes.
- Account numbers or card numbers.
- Your Social Security number.
- Medical records of any kind.
- Anything that is inside the safe.
We record where the key is.
Never the key.
- Encrypted in transit and at rest.
- Export everything, or delete everything, at any time, without asking us.
- One and done: generate the document, download it, and we erase your answers after thirty days. You keep the paper. We keep nothing.
What it costs
No tiers, no plan, no annual renewal, no upsell to a premium version with the good questions in it. There is one document, and this is what it costs.
If you get partway through and decide it is not for you, we refund it. If you finish it and never look at it again, it has still done its job.
- The full document, all six sections.
- A print-ready PDF, formatted to be signed.
- The ask-and-accept for your person and a backup.
- A yearly reminder on a date you pick.
- Free updates and re-prints, forever.
The card, mailed to you$29 total
A gold-foil card that asks the question, sent to you in an envelope. You write their name on it and hand it over with the document. $10 on top.
Secure checkout by Stripe. It shows on your statement as NONDESCRIPTS, the studio behind this. Twenty minutes. Nothing to install.
What this is not
Read this part before you buy, not after. It is short, and it is the truth.
It is not a will
It does not move property, it does not name an executor, and it does not override a single word of anything a will says. If your will and this document disagree, the will wins.
If you do not have a will, this does not replace one, and you should go and make one. This sits next to a will. It answers the forty questions a will was never designed to answer.
It is not legal advice
This is not a law firm and nobody here is your lawyer. Using this creates no attorney-client relationship, and nothing in the document has been reviewed for your particular situation. For anything with money or custody in it, talk to someone licensed in your state.
One part can carry real weight
Written directions for the disposition of your remains are binding in many states when they are clear and complete and the cost of carrying them out has been provided for: through insurance, a trust, a prepaid plan, or a commitment from someone who will pay. In California that is Health and Safety Code section 7100.1, and directions that meet it come ahead of the usual order of next of kin.
That is why the body-and-service page is built the way it is: one instruction per line, no hedging, with a signature and date rule at the bottom. Sign it. The same page asks how the cost will be covered, because a direction with no way to pay for it can be set aside. Rules differ by state; check yours.
About passwords
Under the digital-assets laws now adopted in most states, a tool the platform itself gives you (Google Inactive Account Manager, Apple Legacy Contact, Facebook Legacy Contact) outranks instructions written in a will.
So the document walks you through switching those on, and records that you did. It never collects the passwords it has no business holding.
A will can become public
When a will goes through probate it can end up in the public record. This document never does. What you wrote for one person stays with that one person.
Questions
Do I still need a will?
Yes. A will decides who gets what, who administers your estate, and who raises your children. This decides none of those things and does not try to.
Think of it as the page that goes on top of the will: the one somebody reads in the first hour, while the will is still sitting with a lawyer waiting for probate.
Estate lawyers have a name for this kind of document, a letter of instruction, and most will tell you to write one alongside your will. Almost nobody does. If you have a will, this is the part it was never meant to hold. If you do not have one yet, do this first and bring it with you: you will walk in with the hard questions already answered.
What if my person says no?
Then you are told, privately and without any ceremony, and you ask someone else. They are never asked to explain themselves and you are never shown a reason.
People say no for reasons that have nothing to do with you: they are already holding this for two other people, they are unwell, they know they would fall apart. It is a real question, which means no is a real answer.
What if I change my mind?
Change anything, any time, as often as you like. Re-generate the document, print the new one, and destroy the old copies, both of them, which is why there are only ever two.
If you change your person, the previous one is told kindly that they have been released. Nobody is left believing they are still holding something they are not.
Is this depressing?
Less than you are expecting. About ten minutes in, most people stop thinking about dying and start thinking about logistics: which drawer, which neighbor, which record.
And the honest answer to the rest of it: twenty uncomfortable minutes now buys the people you love a substantially better week later. That is the whole trade, and it is a good one.
What happens if you go out of business?
Nothing happens to the thing that matters, because the thing that matters is printed and sitting in two drawers. That is deliberate. A document that only works while a company is still running is not a document, it is a subscription.
If we shut down, we will email you, export your answers, and delete everything on our side.
Can two people do this for each other?
Yes, and a lot of people do. Each writes their own, and each names the other. It is two purchases, two documents, and two separate asks, because the question only works if it is asked, not assumed.
